


Prometheus in Stasis

by bratfarrar



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratfarrar/pseuds/bratfarrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The clock ticks slowly down toward his release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prometheus in Stasis

> The woe which is and that which yet shall be I wail; and question make of  these wide skies when shall the star of my deliverance rise. And yet – and yet – exactly I foresee all that shall come to pass; no sharp surprise of pain shall overtake me; what’s determined bear, as I can, I must, knowing the might of strong necessity is unconquerable.
> 
> -Aeschylus, _Prometheus Bound_

 

_Twelve thousand, three hundred and eighty-two._

He shifts his wrists beneath the chains, moves them slowly, gently, in motions practiced and perfected, testing strength here and friction  there, each sun-heated link caressing his skin like a burning coal. No weaknesses found, he stills, sighs, begins again with his legs instead, motions all measured out in scant hairs; the one who bound him did his job well.

_Three thousand, two hundred and seventy-one._

The sun slants across him, forcing him to squint against the glare. He sighs again, but continues the endless testing of his bonds. When the eagle rips out his liver, he groans once and that is all. It will return; no use in making more of a fuss.

_Nine hundred and twenty._

Snow. He shivers beneath it, briefly glad for a change from the fire-like heat. The chains bite at him like ice as he pulls against them.

_Three hundred and forty-nine._

It  would be so very easy to lie there motionless, chained to the mountain, liver ever raw and bleeding, face turned toward heaven, and to despair. So very easy to simply stop. He could tell himself that it is wisest, even: to guard his strength. To save his dignity. To retreat inside himself, into a prison from which he could never be freed.

Zeus would like that, he thinks.

But instead he shifts his weight against the rock at his back, the chains at his front, the weariness at his heart, and does not give in. Someday the chains will come off, and when that happens he will stand again, secure in the knowledge that he did not give in or give up. And then—

Then, perhaps, he will rest.

_One._


End file.
